The Endless Degrees Of Torture
by ZivaDavid-LesNinja-FemmeLove
Summary: Beating, Rape, Starvation, Dehydration, Strappado, Flagellation, even Waterboarding. She is subjected to it all and much more in the confines of that Somali terrorist camp. The question is after the endless degrees of torture will she make it out alive?
1. WARNING LABEL

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

THIS STORY IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART!

WHILE IT MAY BE GOOD BUT BE WARNED THE CONTENT IN THE FOLLOWING STORY IS ONLY FOR MATURE AUDIENCES!

THE FOLLOWING STORY CONTAINS

TORTURE TECHNIQUES SUCH AS:

BEATING

PHYSICAL VIOLENCE

CUTTING

BURNING/BRANDING

SEXUAL ASSAULT

FLAGELLATION

STARVATION/DEHYDRATION

STRAPPADO

WATERBOARDING

! WHEN READING THIS PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!

! THIS STORY IS RATED M FOR A VERY GOOD REASON!

!READER'S DISCRETION IS STRICTLY ADVICED!\

DO NOT SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU!

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

ENJOY!


	2. PART 1

**THE ENDLESS DEGREES OF TORTURE**

By: Sammy Jo

The Israeli didn't plan for this. No one plans for this. She was sent on this mission but it did not go the way it had originally been planned out. On the way to Somalia all of her team, except for two, were killed in a cross fire between the Mossad and the crew on the ship. Malachi had a broken clavicle and Aviv had three gunshots wounds. They needed medical attention but Ziva was left scot-free, at least for the time being. What she did could only be described as a suicide mission but she thought it would be for the greater good. She couldn't have been more wrong.

When she went it alone she felt her training would get her through the long walk to the Horn of Africa from Mogadishu. She even figured she might find a ride but what she was unsure of was what would happen when she got to the Somali terrorist camp. When she had a team to back her up she was confident but now she was alone. She had eight weapons. Eight weapons were all she had to rely on. She had no one but herself.

She walked inland and held her AK-47 in her arms. It was then when she found it. It was an abandoned jeep with the keys still in the ignition. Nobody seemed to own it and normally she would not have done this but she stole it. She started it and began driving down the desert pathway. She could hear a man yelling from behind her in loud Arabic. She turned around and saw the man. She wanted to apologize but she didn't. She kept going.

Soon the hot afternoon turned into cold night and she was growing tired, hungry, and cold. There was a reason the man was mad she had taken his old jeep. The trunk was filled with food and blankets. She hopped out and went to the back. She dug out a container of uncooked rice and some fresh meat and vegetables and began preparing a meal. Mossad had trained her how to survive without what Americans referred to as basic necessities. She gathered clusters of wood and started a fire. It was not too big. She made sure of this. She was in a region she knew where rebels came around and she did not want to be found.

She began cooking the mix of rice, meat, and vegetables. When it finished she doused the fire and quickly began to eat. It was delicious if she said so herself. When she got done eating she gathered the blankets before climbing into the back of the jeep and covered up in the blankets. She then allowed herself to drift off into a light sleep as the freezing cold of night time desert engulfed her.

It was not long before she awoke but she was not awoken by anything good. It was the rebels, or so she thought. She heard them yelling in Arabic. She remained hidden, wondering if they had seen her. She prayed to Elohim that she had not been spotted. She covered herself in the blankets, leaving just enough room for her to see. She then noticed something.

They weren't like the typical rebels. They looked to be Palestinian. She grew scared, which does not happen often to her. She was worried that they were Saleem's men. Her breathing hitched when the men raided the jeep. They tore apart the van and when they saw Ziva they stopped and grinned. She could hear a large man yell to grab her. They ripped the blankets off and saw her. She then pulled out her Sig Sauer and shot the Arab man above her. She pushed his dead body off of her and jumped out of the jeep. She held her gun out and shot five of the men.

She was then waylaid by a large build Arab man. He had his arm around her neck in the attempts of cutting off her oxygen. He wanted her to pass out. He didn't want her to fight. She then pulled out a knife from her cargo pants pocket and stabbed him between his seventh and eight ribs. He let go of her and held his side. Like some sort of mad man he pulled the knife out and lunged at her. This proved to be a fatal mistake for when he pulled out the knife more blood came gushing from the wound. He felt the ability to breath slowly slip away along with his life. Seconds later he died.

Ziva then turned around and shot two more men. Just then another group of men came at her. She kicked one in the gut, punched another in the face, and proceeded to fight off the men. It was then when she saw him. It was then when she saw Saleem. She narrowed her eyebrows in confusion. What was he doing here? Why would he leave the camp and come with "the rebels"? She had no idea what the answers to those questions were. She was then apprehended by them when a man of medium stature hit her in the head with the butt of his rifle. She was out like a light.

Saleem ordered two of his men to grab her. They took hold of her limp and lifeless frame before carrying her off towards their khaki colored jeep. They tossed her into the back before they bounded her wrists behind her back and ankles tightly together. She was genuinely restricted.

They began to make their way to the Horn of Africa where the camp was located. Ziva did not awaken the whole way there. When they arrived to the main part of the camp Saleem hopped out of the driver's seat and grabbed Ziva from the back where she had been the whole time. He slung her lifeless form over his shoulder and carried her to the three cells he had. He put her in the smallest one, where only a chair remains. He placed her down roughly and shackles her to the chair by her ankles and arms. She was bound and Saleem made sure of this. He stormed out, angrier than anything else.

He found his thirteen men within the room they designated the meeting room. They all turned to him in response to his entrance. He slammed the door shut and sat down at his desk. He looked throughout the faces and stared sternly at them.

"Well…do any of you know who the hell she is?" He yelled at them.

They all shook their heads. They could offer up theories and conjecture but it would be nothing concrete. Saleem knew what he had to do now. He had to find out who she was. He knew how to do this. He had to interrogate her.

He abruptly stood and left the room, leaving the thirteen terrorists which remained confused. He walked back into the room, a chair in his hand, and sat down in it. He sat right across from her and stared at her unconscious silhouette. She was beautiful and Saleem had to admit this. He then noticed it. A Star of David dangled from her neck. He narrowed his eyes at it and knew at least where she was from. She was Israeli.

He pulled out a lighter and began igniting and extinguishing the small flame the device created. He studied it as she stayed there lifeless. He then decided he was bored with waiting for her to awake. He kicked her leg hard which caused her to slowly stir. Her eyes slowly fluttered open to see his face again. She saw Saleem.

"You killed my men." He declared.

"Saleem."

"Oh! So you know my name?" He asked, intrigued at how she seemed to know him yet he didn't know her.

"Na'am." She said in Arabic.

"And you speak Arabic." He added. "You are a very smart woman."

She wondered if he was being condescending but realized it didn't matter. Despite what she had vowed years ago she had been taken alive.

"Thank you." She replied.

"I was not meaning to compliment you, infidel."

"So, you are a terrorist?" She asked.

"Oh, I think you already know the answer to that." He said, crossing his arms.

"Yes."

"Now, you are going to answer a few questions for me."

"How do you know I will talk?" She asked.

"I have my ways." He said in a dark voice.

She then grew scared but didn't let it show on the outside. She knew that if she showed fear it would give Saleem power. She didn't want to do that. Giving him power would just prove him right. He stood up slowly and remained silent. She then became startled when Saleem picked up the chair and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a loud bang.

The men who remained in the room could hear this and they wondered what was going on within the confines of that cell. Saleem stormed up to her and smacked her across her face. The slap echoed out throughout the cell and Ziva's head whipped back. Her hair draped over her face for a moment until she lifted her head back up.

"Who are you?" He asked in a loud voice.

His accent was so thick and full of pure evil. That was one of the only ways she could describe his voice. Evil. That is what she remembered. When she remained silent Saleem grew enraged. He slapped her yet again but this had little to no effect. It did not suede her in the slightest. He then balled his right hand into a fist and punched her. The pain she felt was indescribable. The whole left side of her face throbbed as a result of the blow.

Saleem smiled wickedly to her and got into her face. His breath smelled of foreign cigarettes and a familiar order. It was Caf-POW!®. She knew the smell well. She then wondered why his breath smelled like this. She was aware that you could only get the stuff from the US. How did he get his hands on the swill?

She knew this did not matter. He took a hold of the back of her head by her hair and yanked her face to where she looked directly up at him. He connected eyes with her and she grew more and more fearful by the minute. His eyes themselves had a demonic sense to them. He was so evil. It was as if he were the product of Satan. With that, he let go of her hair and left.

She narrowed her eyebrows in confusion and watched as he walked away. She then grew even more curious, wondering what he now had in store for her. He was right. He did have ways of making her talk. She was aware of his power. The door was closed and she could hear voices on the other side. She listened closely and carefully as the men spoke Arabic. It was faint and not that clear but by what she could make out nothing good was about to come of her silence.

Two men of whom she had no knowledge of walked into her cell and their faces held devious smiles. They were big men, very big men. Men who, if they wanted could kill her without any weapons, were now in the cell. Rafiq, the lighter of the two came up to her and unshackled her. He held her still as Mohammed, the darker man, tore off her closed.

Desecrated could not begin to describe how she felt. Mohammed discarded of her weapons and rubbed his hands all over her body. She was aware that he would say he was just being thorough but she knew better. Men who were in such a position of power took advantage of women. It was a proven fact. When he finished, he hit her in the face, knocking her to the ground. Rafiq then began to kick her in her side, cracking her tenth and eleventh ribs on her right side.

She did not mean for it to happen but the scream just slipped out. She was in searing pain from each blow she endured. After a few more kicks from Mohammed the pair left her to lay there on the dirt ridden floor. She curled up in a ball, nothing but pain flowing through her. When she heard the door close she took a deep breath before sitting up. She looked up at the soul "window" in the room and then to the door.

The window was not really a window, but a hole that had been put in the room when it was made. She let out a few deep breaths through her nose before standing to her feet. She felt so exposed without clothes and the day was slowly turning into evening. They had taken her clothes. She had no idea why they had done this but right then that didn't matter.

She looked around aimlessly trying to figure out something. A plan. All she needed was a plan. She didn't care if it was stupid she just needed an escape plan. She then stopped at the window. The window had nothing covering it except two rusty metallic bars. She wondered if she could squeeze through them. She looked at the door, her eyes wide with fear and anxiety. She had no idea if this would work and she prayed that she didn't get caught. She knew the consequences she would face if she were captured after trying to escape.

She took a deep breath and grabbed the chair which she was once shackled to and pushed it against the wall with the window. She stepped onto it and looked out. She shook her head at what she saw. She saw three men and Saleem laughing it up outside, probably at her expense. She then realized something. She couldn't try to escape right now. She had to wait for the cover of nightfall.

She jumped down and moved the chair away as to divert suspicions from the terrorist. She sat down in the corner of the room and stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't long until Saleem made an abrupt visit to her cell. She allowed her focus to then go on him. She watched his every movement as he trudged angrily towards her. She hadn't even had the change to stand or even react when Saleem took her by the hair and pulled her up. She couldn't help but scream at this which seemed to enthrall him deeply.

He dragged her towards the chair and plopped her down in it. He punched her in the face, harder than any of the previous hits. It was so hard that it made her lip bleed. She could taste the blood and Saleem could see it. He smiled balefully at this, wanting to taunt her with it.

"Yeah, bleed for me." He said with a sinister laugh.

She reached up to her face and wiped her lip with the back of her hand. She looked up at him, sheer anger in her eyes. She stood up and pounced on Saleem. She punched him and stood, making her way to the door. She was immediately halted by Saleem grabbed onto her ankle. She fell to the ground face first. He pulled her back, watching as she turned onto her back. She then kicked him in the face with her free foot and he staggered backwards. She stood and ran, not caring if she was naked. Just then a guard grabbed her and didn't let her go, despite her incessant thrashing.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked; his English still containing thick accentuation.

She continued to writhe in his arms as he carried her back to the cell next to the one she was previously in. It had a bed. When she saw the old, dusty mattress she feared the worst.

"No, no, no! NO!" She pleaded. "NO!"

Her screams could be heard throughout the entire camp. The anguish and fear in her voice was unmistakable. The man tossed the naked Israeli down on the mattress and watched as her bare chest heaved up and down with each breath. He smiled deviously down to the woman. He could see the fear in her eyes. Ziva watched as he slowly became erect. This was what she feared.

She was aware that some people when they torture women will use rape as a weapon. She prayed to somehow avoid this but that would become inevitably impossible. Just then Saleem stormed into the room and grabbed the man by his left arm. He propelled the man's muscular frame into the wall and looked at his erection. He was well aware of what was on his mind and he wasn't going to have any of it.

"I'm sorry, but, Qasim has…impulse issues." Saleem said, trying to sound as if he were nice.

Ziva was not going to buy the charade. She knew exactly what and who he was and she wasn't going to stand for the trickery. She looked into his eyes, her hatred reflecting in the animalistic terrorist's eyes. The look in his eyes alone was enough to make your blood run cold and Ziva was no different. She noticed Saleem analyzing her body rather closely.

"But, then again, who could blame him?" He said with a shrug as he gestured down her slightly dirty body.

"If that is your idea of a compliment I give you a C-." She said, spitting at him.

"Where are my manners? I would not let him fuck you…not until I had a piece of your ass." He said with a twisted smile.

"You are a sick man!" She shouted.

"I am well aware of that…whoever you are. You know, I am going to need a name. I cannot keep referring to you the way I am." He told her, crossing his arms as he looked back at her.

"Why?" She asked.

"Well, you are going to be here for quite some time and it would not be tasteful for me to not call you by your name."

His words seemed so sure and confident…they were in such a way phrased that it somewhat scared her. She wondered who exactly spawned the man which stood before her. Maybe her first impression had been correct? Maybe he was the product of Satan? She stood from her spot on the mattress and was surprised when Saleem hit her hard. It was with such force that it broke her cheek bone. She was in agony. Saleem held her by her feet and dragged her all of the way back to the room.

When she was back in there she felt cold rush over her bare frame. She then realized it was night time. She looked out the window and saw the starry sky. She turned back around when she realized Saleem had left. She then laid there, pain swarming her and enveloping her along with the desert floor. She lied there and did the only thing she could. She cried.

The minutes turned into hours as Ziva remained in the same grotesque position the terrorists had left her in the night before. Soon cold morphed into heat and sun seeped into the room. It heated the sand beneath Ziva which lulled her from her sleep.

She didn't know how she was able to sleep considering she was held hostage by terrorists. She opened her eyes to see obtrusive sun piercing her corneas. She closed her eyes against it as she sat up. She was still naked but that didn't matter to her. She was hungry and thirsty. She looked around the room, praying to find some sort of water or food. Yet her efforts were futile for there had been nothing edible. There were two small wooden chairs and a desk made out of the very same wood.

She crawled towards the window and perched herself below it against the wall. She knew that if she remained on the sand too long she would get burned. What she didn't realize was that being burnt by sand was nothing compared to what she was about to experience.

When Saleem and two of his men came in, they found Ziva sitting there. They laughed at how pathetic and weak she looked. She was bruised on her face, her sides, and her ankles. Her hair was a catastrophe and her entire body was caked it dirt, mud, and blood. They couldn't wait to have more fun with the helpless Israeli.

"Hello my favorite little prisoner." Saleem chimed cheerfully.

It still baffled Ziva how Saleem could seem so cheerful one moment and then with the slightest thing he could become the evilest man on the planet. To her, he was this. There was no doubt of this. She hadn't even been with him a week and she knew in her heart he was the evilest man on the face of the Earth.

"What, aren't you going to say hello?" He asked.

"Go to Hell!" She spat.

"Someone isn't in a good mood." He observed.

"Well, my mood did sour somewhat when I woke up and found out I was in your prison camp!" She quipped.

Saleem proceeded to make a tisk-tisk sound with his mouth as if he were disappointed with what he heard.

"That's very disappointing. I thought we were just starting to be friends." He said, mockingly sounding hurt.

"I would sooner die than be friends with you, you deranged motherfucker!" She yelled.

"Ouch! That hurt! Maybe you will warm up Namir to and Hamdi? Hmm? What do you say I let you three get acquainted?"

"I say that sounds great." Namir said, rubbing his hands together menacingly.

Ziva suddenly felt fear consume her when the two average sized men came towards her. Saleem walked away, leaving the men to tend to their captive Israeli. Namir grabbed her by the arms as she put them up defensively. He dragged her towards the door and they took her into a room which could only be described as one thing, the torture room.

It had a long table with restraints and multiple shelves full of weapons and various torture devices. Ziva breathed heavily, not wanting to be a victim of this torture. One man put his lips next to Ziva's ear.

"You know…" Hamdi started. "…we got these toys just for you."

His tone of voice alone sent chills down her spine. She wanted nothing more than to cry. She never thought this would be where she'd end up. She thought that she would be able to get out of any fix but she was no perfect warrior. In fact, she was nothing of the sort.

They dragged her as she tried to squirm and fight her way out of their grasp. Her attempts proved to be nothing short of feeble because these men were big and not easy to overpower, which isn't to say she didn't she. She tried, rather hard actually. When they finally managed to get her to the table they attached the shackles to her wrists and ankles. They restrained her so tightly that her hands and feet grew numb. She couldn't move them at all. On the table her legs were spread and her arms were tied above her head. There was absolutely no way she could possibly stop them from doing what they wanted to do. She was powerless.

Hamdi went over to the shelf whilst Namir left the room. Ziva wondered why he left. Then again, when she gave it second thought, she really didn't want to know. She looked over at Hamdi and watched as he admired each and every tool which was at his disposal. There were knifes of various kinds, a multitude of whips, chains were strewn about, and then there were torches. Hamdi's eyes seemed to light up at the sight of them.

Just as he grabbed one Namir walked in with three of his buddies. It appeared they were going to be joining in. Ziva was then sent into a fury. She began wriggling and manically moving yet she couldn't break free. Just then Hamdi brought over his torch and pressed into Ziva's olive-tan thigh. Yassin, Khamud, and Tamir watched as she screamed in sheer, unadulterated agony. She could feel nothing but pain. When he removed the torch he looked at Ziva with a crooked smile.

"Did that feel good?" He asked, knowing all too well that it did not.

She shook her head, a lone tear falling from her eye. It trickled down her cheek, left forever unseen by the rest of the world. Hamdi then allowed the torch to burn her side. He had placed it right below her bruised ribs. She flinched away and let out a blood curdling scream. For any sane and rational person it would be too much to watch but these men, they were actually getting off of it.

Her breathing was now sporadic and she could feel her flesh literally burning underneath the heat of the torch. She wanted to cry right then but she knew she had to keep strong. She couldn't let them break her. There was absolutely no way she could let that happen to her. She knew what would happen if she broke. They would either kill her or worse they would kill her former team at NCIS. If there was one last good thing she could do for them she would keep these horrid men from finding her.

The burns were painful but not nearly as painful as the knives. Hamdi soon grew tired of the torch and wanted to move on to something more. He went over to the rather impressive knife collection and pulled out his desired knife. He played with it in his fingers and smirked devilishly to her. He was bad but she would prefer him over Saleem. Saleem was and would always be the worst. She would soon have an even better understanding of that.

When Saleem found Ziva she was still restrained to the wooden table. He laughed when he saw the cuts and burns. He knew Hamdi, Namir, Yassin, Khamud, and Tamir had had quite a bit of fun with her and he was going to taunt her with it. He knew that even taunting a person at their most vulnerable could be torture. He knew of many forms of torture and he planned on getting to each one while he had Ziva with him.

"I take it Hamdi had a lot of fun with you." He said.

She didn't respond. She couldn't. She was in too much pain to even talk. What she didn't know was that they hadn't even scratched the metaphorical surface of what she was going to endure. Saleem released one of her hands and then the other one. When she was completely unrestrained Saleem dragged her limp frame from the room into the one she had been previously held in. Ziva was frightened by what she saw.

There were ropes hanging from the ceiling. She wondered what they were for. She couldn't help but be curious. What Saleem said next scared the living daylights out of her. She had only heard about this during Mossad training but she herself had never experienced it.

"Welcome to Strappado." He whispered into her ear.

Strappado, as she was well aware, was and still is a Palestinian torture technique of which a person is strung up and hung by their wrists. The weight is supposed to then dislocate the arm joints and cause severe pain. When she heard these words she instantly began fighting Saleem's grasp. Hafiz, Saleem's younger brother, assisted him in restraining the Israeli before stringing her up by her wrists.

"No, don't I beg you." She said frantically as they finished tying her up.

"Well, it looks like our little prisoner is familiar with Strappado." Hafiz declared with mock amazement.

Saleem smiled wickedly and gave Rafiq the okay to start pulling the rope. This caused Ziva to go into the air. Despite what she had thought she knew this process was not quick. It was slow. She could slowly feel gravity start to pull her arms away from her body. She started crying for she knew that there was no way she was going to make it out of here alive.

Soon gravity overcame all forces and as her left elbow and right shoulder became dislocated she shouted to them what they wanted to know.

"MY NAME IS ZIVA!" She yelled.

They instantly dropped her to the ground and she lay there limp and in excruciating pain. It was the worst pain she had felt in her entire life. Rafiq and Saleem picked her up by her afflicted arms and flung her into the nearest wall. They left her there like a piece of rubbish as they cleaned up the ropes and pulleys.

Moments later Saleem had gotten everything and everyone cleared out of the room except for Ziva and a chair.

"I can have someone fix your arms when you tell me what your last name is." He informed her as he moved her to the chair.

"I will not tell you." She spat.

"Ha! I doubt that. With a dislocated shoulder and elbow. Ziva, I know for a fact you are not that resilient." He said.

He was right and they both knew he was right. He was using this to his advantage.

"So, Ziva, you can cooperate or…I can have Rafiq introduce you to his…favorite form of torture." She listened to him say.

"Which is?" She asked, trying to breathe through the pain.

"You will find out soon." He said teasingly.

"So, whether or not I tell you Rafiq will still show me his favorite form of torture?" She asked.

"Precisely." He said with a nod.

She looked down at her lap and thought of her options. Just then her mind flashed back to her original escape plan. She knew she had to have her arms fixed for her to be able to make her plan work. She decided to tell him.

"David." She said in a low tone.

"What was that? I could not quite hear you." He said, putting his hand behind his hear.

"David." She said in a louder tone through gritted teeth.

"Now where do I know that name?" He asked himself, tapping his chin. "No. It couldn't be. It would be too fortunate."

"What?" She asked, curiosity overwhelming her.

"Are you by any chance the daughter of Deputy Director of Mossad, Eli David?" He asked, getting in her face.

"Yes." She whispered, just loud enough for him to hear it.

He seemed then to be overloaded with joy. It was as if he had a personal vendetta against her father or Mossad or both.

"This is a dream come true." He said.

"How so?"

"Hafiz!" He yelled.

Just then Saleem's little brother came running it with a medical kit. Hafiz had gone to medical school and he knew how to set dislocated joints yet he also knew how to inflict serious pain while doing so and he did just that. Saleem stood and watched with twisted amusement as she screamed out in pain. When he finished he walked out of the room, closely trailed by Saleem. She was yet again, left alone in that room. She used the potentially little time she had to scheme. She was back in the room with the window. She could tell in was mid-evening and that darkness would soon swallow the desert. Tonight she would make her escape. Tonight she would be free.

She listened closely as all of the hoopla and noise the terrorists had created died down and she then perched the chair against the wall. Her whole body ached but she knew she had to do this. If she wanted to live she had to at least try. She climbed onto the chair and looked outside. She saw no one. The bars were not that narrow. In fact they seemed to be the perfect distance apart. She used as much strength she could muster to pull herself up and through the bars. She laid down on the barren ground and allowed herself to catch her breath and slowly the pain she felt stopped.

She stood from the ground but remained low. She kept a wary eye on everything in her sights. She then started to slowly walk a few stepped but after awhile she began to run. She had made it to the edge of the camp before she was captured. She then came to realize it was Rafiq who had captured.

"You're mine now, bitch!" He said, evil resonating from his tone.

Fear. It was all she felt at that very moment. Fear. She had tried so hard to escape from the camp and from his grasp but she failed at both. Rafiq laughed at how feeble and senseless her attempts were. He dragged her all the way to the area of space between a series of three buildings.

"Saleem!" Rafiq yelled.

At the sound of him being beckoned her came running. He saw Rafiq holding onto a struggling Ziva. He was surprised and angry at the same time.

"What are you doing with her?" He asked.

"She tried to escape." He told him, throwing her towards him.

She hit the ground face first yet again.

"You know, I have to admire your persistence. You've been here for just a few days and you've already tried escaping twice." He said before he started clapping. "Too bad you failed."

Saleem laughed when he saw the fear in her eyes.

"Now who's a scared little Israeli?" He asked.

He didn't wait for an answer because he already knew the answer to that. He bent down and grabbed her by her hair and dragged her towards this contraption in the middle of the area. It had ropes on the top of it and it looked just like the hangman game. He wrapped the rope around Ziva's wrists meticulously and strung her up. Her arms hurt like hell and she was still naked. She felt degraded and humiliated to say the least.

She sniffed back the tears and watched as both Rafiq and Saleem went off to complete different tasks. She then began wondering what was in store for her. She listened as a series of at least ten sets of footfall approaching her. When she opened her eyes she found all of Saleem's men lined up in a straight line.

"Gentleman, you are about to witness firsthand what happens when you do not behave like a good little hostage." Saleem said.

Ziva hung her head low and listened to Saleem brutalized her in front of them without even using a weapon. His words were enough. Just then Rafiq returned with the various kinds of whips which he had made himself out of rope and rubber. When Ziva saw them she began thrashing which only made her arms hurt worse. She grew frightened when Rafiq stepped behind her. This was it. She knew what was next.

With one loud crack he whipped her, leaving three long gashes on her back. They were red and inflamed. He pulled back the whip again, cracking it a second time. He repeated this process for five whole minutes until her entire back became unrecognizable. The terrorists stared in awe at the sniveling Israeli's back. It looked so damaged and irreparable. Just then Saleem allowed Rafiq and the others to leave.

"You know, Rafiq lied earlier."

"What about?" She managed to ask.

"You aren't his now." He said. "You're mine."

He went up to her and forced her to press her lips to his. She pulled away and kicked him in his testicles. When he recovered from the blow he stood back up and grabbed her by her breasts. He squeezed them to such a degree that it became painful for Ziva. She screamed out which caused Saleem to smile.

"That's it. Scream for me!" He said, obviously intrigued by her pain-filled screams.

He bent down and bit down into her flesh, leaving an impression. As he bit into her she screamed out yet again. She couldn't help it. She felt pain pulsing through every part of her. Saleem soon cut her down from there and dragged her limp and bare body through the desert's dirt on her back. It hurt worse than the whip itself. She felt rocks, dirt, and God knows what else seep into her lashes which mar her back. When he returned her to her cell Ziva had no idea that another form of torture was in play right then.

For two whole weeks they had not visited her except to give her little scraps of bread and water. That was all she had to eat. Her stomach ached for the luxurious food she had known in America. She missed pizza, and movie nights with Tony. The whole time they had left her there she had not tried to escape or anything. She just thought about everyone who had once loved her. She especially thought about Tony. He seemed to cross her mind every day.

Ziva was aware that she may never see any of them ever again. She was also aware that starvation and dehydration were forms of torture and Saleem said he would use any technique he'd have to. After those two weeks were up the night she was in for quite a surprise in the morning.

Saleem could not deny that he was starting to miss Ziva. Not in the way good people miss people but in the worst of ways a person could miss another. He missed hearing her scream. He missed tasting her flesh. He missed seeing her in pain. Now that he knew what he knew he understood that she knew much more than she was letting on.

He stood from his desk and walked into Ziva cell which was a building across from it. He kicked in the door and walked within the dirt-covered confines at which were holding Ziva.

"Are you ready to have more fun?" He asked with a perverted smile.

She didn't even dignify that with a response. She knew it was not fun and the sheer fact he viewed something so sick, so maniacal as fun made her sick to her stomach. She was huddled in the corner with the last of the water that Yassin had given her two days ago. She drank the rest and set aside the bottle. There was a scared look in her eyes and Saleem saw this. He couldn't help but laugh at her pain. It was something he got off on, after all.

Saleem grabbed a hold of her ankle and dragged her back into that room. It was a room she had not seen in a long time and that was a good thing. Saleem tied her back onto the table, this time lowering it down to where it stood horizontally. Saleem double checked the restraints before fetching Ahmed and Rafiq. When they came back they found Ziva trying to move in the restraints. They were tight, tighter than usual. She noticed this. She didn't question it because it no longer mattered. She knew in her heart of hearts that she was going to die. She was going to die here and no one could do a damn thing about it.

Rafiq and Ahmed fetched a large rag and a bucket of water from across the hall before returning to Saleem and Ziva. The three men watched as Ziva's chest heaved anxiously. She was scared of what was to come and she should have been. Rafiq took the rag and put it over Ziva's face; stretching it tightly. Ziva could feel her breathing become raspy through the rag, but it was about to become much worse. Ahmed poured the ice cold water over her face, giving her the sensation that she was drowning despite the fact she was not underwater.

It was a process called water boarding, also referred to as dry drowning, and it was a torture technique that was not only affective but agonizingly painful. When the men ran out of water Saleem unshackled her and they uncovered her face. She fell off the table and she seemed to be gasping for air. She appeared to be a fish of water. Every breath seemed painful and she began coughing up water. This was not the end of her current suffering. She was in for so much more.

Rafiq and Saleem began kicking Ziva until she lay there seemingly lifeless. She looked utterly broken and without any form of remorse in their veins they continued abusing her. Water and blood lay beside her in ever-growing puddles. It pooled around her naked body and she was shivering. It was not because she was cold. It was because she was scared that she had been shaking. She thought that nothing could compare to the torture she had endured that day but every time she was proved wrong.

The day after next would always be worse and more pain would be brought to her. Every day was a new degree of endless torture and there was no escaping it. Ziva had finally accepted that this would be her life forever. She would become the terrorists' punching bag and she had to live with that. Despite everything she was trained for nothing on the face of the planet could have ever prepared her for what was in store for her that very next day.

It was a warm Somali evening and Saleem was sitting in his quarters when Rafiq and Qasim walked in. They looked disgruntled and frustrated. He stood up at the sight of them.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"I want of piece of that bitch's ass, that's what I want!" Qasim yelled.

"She is not talking and we have tried everything else." Rafiq pointed out, trying to be the rational one.

"I was thinking the same thing but she is mine first." Saleem said, pointing to himself sternly. "Got it!"

"Yes sir." They both said simultaneously.

"Good. Where is that pathetic excuse for an Israeli?" He asked, putting on his combat boots.

"In her cell." Qasim answered

"Good." He said in a Machiavellian manner.

He stormed out of his room and to Ziva's cell. She was huddled in the corner, blood seeping from her bottom lip. Saleem figured one of his men decided to have a little fun with bashing her head in. Almost the entire left side of her face was swollen and the bruises were all different colors, indicating that they were in different stages of the healing process. He went up to her and smiled down to her in a wicked way. This smile truly reflected the evil which resided in his soul, or lack thereof.

"You know, I have been holding on this for long enough." He said. "I think it's time I have a little more fun with you."

She shook her head rapidly when she realized what was happening here.

"No! No! Please don't! I beg of you! Don't!" She screamed.

"Too late for begging, Ms. David. Your ass is ours now, well, as of this moment it's mine but soon the others will want a piece of you." He said, taking hold of her flimsy wrist.

She began to pull against him, still containing the will to fight. He laughed at her worthless attempts at escaping his grasp and he kicked her in the head. This momentarily knocked her out. When she awoke she was in that room again and Saleem was on top of her. She began to try and push him off to no avail. He pinned her down and he already had his pants off. She stifled her tears as he thrust himself within her. She squeezed her thighs around him to keep him from moving but it didn't work. Saleem came prepared. He pulled out his knife and dug it into her upper thigh. She screamed out in agony and spread out her legs.

"That's a good Jew." He praised as he stroked her dirt-matted hair.

He plunged into her several more times until he finished. He pulled out of her and dressed before leaving her there. She just laid there, not able to move or anything. She stared at the ceiling for five whole minutes before Ziva turned onto her side, curled up into a ball, and cried.

Rafiq had begun to miss whipping Ziva. He got a thrill out of it and wanted more. Qasim also wanted in on it and so the two gentlemen began walking down the hall to the cell where she had been left. Qasim grabbed her by the throat and drug her out and they proceeded to take her to the very same place that she had been whipped the last time. She was breathing heavily, hoping Qasim would let go of her soon.

Sure enough he did and the pair tied her up in the same position as last time. Rafiq cracked the whip against the sand and this caused Ziva to flinch. This didn't go unnoticed by the assholes who were about to beat her senseless. They laughed it up at her expense. Rafiq brought the whip back over her shoulder and whipped her bare back again. The slowly healing pink marks on her back were then replaced with the flaming red ones, except this time it was different. The whip was different. It was designed with tiny blades at the end of each small rope. They dug into Ziva's flesh ripping into it quickly. Blood poured from Ziva could only cry as the men took turns and whipped her throughout the night.

When Saleem found her she was strewn up onto the wooden "hangman" posts and she seemed to not be awake. She was bleeding profusely from a few of the gashes on her back. Saleem came at her with his knife and in one swift motion he cut through the rope. She fell to the ground, limply becoming surrounded by her own blood. Saleem took her by her tangled brunette locks and dragged her petite silhouette back to the concrete cell which she had been held in for the better part of two months.

He had had fun earlier and wanted more. He sat her in the chair and left. Sharif, a guard, remained outside her cell as Saleem left the room. He was in need of some food and a shower. When he finished he dressed in his usual clothes of cargo pants and a t-shirt with his neck-scarf and combat boots. He exited his room and began to make his way to his prisoner's cell.

Meanwhile, in Ziva's cell, she was sitting in the chair when she finally started to come to. She was startled to not find herself tied up but in a chair. She allowed her head to hang down. She had no reason to lift it up anymore. Just then the sound of heavy footfall approached. Fear coursed through her veins along with adrenaline.

Saleem stopped by the guard to light a cigarette before he went inside. She listened as the door opened and his combat boot clad feet came towards her. He then put out his cigarette in the ground beneath him. Ziva was now fully clothed but if she did not cooperate with him she wouldn't be for much longer. He reached out and took a hold of her Star of David necklace. With one firm tug he broke the chain and analyzed it closer before tossing it away.

Just then Saleem grabbed a fistful of Ziva's hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him. He got in her face. His breath still smelled of that very same cigarette he had previously been smoking. It had only been recently when Ziva discovered Saleem Ulman smoked and when she found this out she was not surprised.

He looked into her eyes, nothing but hate and evil in them. The words he spoke next did not shock her any longer and yet she never answered the question he would pose. This time he words it in a command, the power in his voice reverberating throughout the entire camp.

"Tell me what you know…about NCIS." He ordered.


	3. PART 2

"I know nothing." She lied.

She knew everything. She knew about Gibbs. She knew about Tony. She knew about McGee, Abby, Ducky, everyone. She knew everything about everyone. Saleem slapped her across the face which made her head whip back. When she recovered from the slap she looked to Saleem and spit in his face. This action proved to be a bad one for it resulted in Saleem pulling out his knife and slicing her shoulder. When he did this he watched as blood seeped out from the gash.

"Stop lying!" He demanded in a loud voice.

She glared at him and didn't speak. She remained as quiet as a mouse. Saleem had had enough. He pushed Ziva out of the chair and she was now on the ground. Saleem kicked her leg and they spread slightly. She tried to get up but Saleem pushed her down. He pinned her wrists into the dirt and he pulled his knife out yet again. He cut into her pants, causing them to become open.

Ziva knew what was coming next but she knew she couldn't cooperate; not now. She had to keep quiet. He yanked down her pants and stood up. He wasn't going to do this here. He took her by her ankles and dragged her off towards the torture room. She was trying to squirm out of his grasp to no avail. Before he went through the door he picked her petite frame up and draped her over his shoulder.

When they were finally in the room he tossed her down roughly onto the mattress. She closed her legs tightly and refused to let Saleem rape her again. This feeble act did not deter Saleem in the slightest. He got down and pulled out his knife for a third time. He shoved her legs apart and stabbed her in the thigh. He made sure that his blade avoided all major arteries.

He was smart. He knew that if he wanted her to talk he had to keep her alive. She shut her eyes as he entered her yet again. Ziva hated this part. She felt pain coursing through her body at a scale which she never felt before.

With every thrust he brought pain upon her. He would twist the knife in her leg, causing more blood to gush from the severe wound. She then started to cry. Saleem laughed at her expense and decided to taunt her with this.

"Aw, poor little Israeli not as tough as she thought?" He asked.

She remained silent and continued to cry. When he finished with her, he pulled out and removed the knife. He left her there to cry and bleed. She remained still and watched as more and more blood seeped from the wound. She listened as Saleem shouted to a couple of his men in Arabic.

Tamir and Mohammed came into the room and grabbed Ziva. They lifted her up and carried her down the hall back to her room. They tossed her inside, not carrying if she got hurt. Her small and battered frame hit the floor hard and she didn't move. They shut the door and she was once again trapped within the room.

The terrorists grew smarter. While Ziva was gone they put glass in more bars, making it impossible for her to climb out. She looked up and out the window to see the sun slowly dipping down behind the horizon. It was official. She had been there for forty days.

Forty whole days she was stuck within the camp and she could do nothing to get out. She had faced this fact a long time ago. She had also started facing other facts. She started facing the fact that she may just die within these four walls.

To be honest with the rest of the world and herself she didn't really care if she died. She didn't want to live like this. She didn't want to go through this for another minute. She knew she had to hold on though. She couldn't break. She just couldn't.

It was then when Qasim came into the room. She wondered why he was here. He closed the door and leant up against it. He just spent a few minutes staring at her. The longer he stared at her the more scared she became. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She just stared right back, fear evident in her deep brown eyes.

"You know, Saleem says I can't touch you." Qasim finally said. "But, what he does not know won't hurt him…and you."

He walked towards her and she backed herself up into the corner. She quaked with fear as the realization came to her. He was here to rape her. She kept her bare legs shut tightly and pulled her knees to her chest.

"You touch me and I scream." She threatened.

"You scream I make it that much worse." He retorted.

He grabbed her by her ankles and pulled her towards the center of the room. He pinned her into the dirt and shoved her thighs apart. This was it. A second man would now desecrate her in the worst of ways.

Just then Saleem busted into the room and pulled Qasim off of Ziva for the second time. He looked at Qasim with rage in his eyes. He had disobeyed the rules and Saleem had no idea what he was going to do. He had given all of the other terrorists strict orders to not touch her. She was his.

Ziva sat mystified as Saleem proceeded to beat Qasim. Qasim was a maniacal man and he could withstand multiple forms of pain. He just laid there and took the beating. When Saleem finished Qasim's face was grotesque. His bruises were caked with his own blood.

"LEAVE!" Saleem yelled at the man.

Qasim stood from the ground and left. Saleem turned to Ziva and flashed a devious smile to her. He walked towards her and took a hold of her by her blood and dirt matted hair. Saleem grabbed the chair and set it back up in its spot. He sat her down in the chair and smacked her in the face.

"Nice." Ziva remarked as she wiped blood from her cracked lips.

"What?" Saleem asked.

"You slap me for your guy's insolence." She clarified.

He didn't even respond to that. He only punched her again and left the room. She remained seated in the chair and let out a heaved sigh. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this depressed. She knew in her heart of hearts that she wasn't getting out of here alive.

The hours slowly ticked by and she grew more desperate as time went on. She stood from the chair, free to move around the cell she was inevitably trapped in. She went to the window and looked out at the starry night sky.

It was cold and despite popular belief at night the desert is frigid. She huddled in the corner, colder than she had ever been. She knew that soon fall would be here and nights would just be colder and longer.

She didn't want to even think about what would happen to her when the men left the camp but she knew that if they were to stay there long they wouldn't keep her alive for very long. Her lack of compliance would eventually spell her death. She sat back down in the old wooden chair and stared blankly at the door in front of her. She was anxiously waiting for a man, any man, to bust in that door and beat her into submission.

As time passed she grew more and more nervous. She didn't know who or what to expect next but she knew it was nothing good. The Israeli remained still in that chair, covered only by a baggy t-shirt which she knew came from one of the terrorists. It swallowed her thinning frame. She hadn't eaten anything since they had her on bread and water for two weeks. She knew that even without the beating, flagellation, Strappado, and water boarding she was being tortured.

It was psychological warfare and she knew it. Just thinking about what may or may not happen to her was torture. Saleem was a cunning man and Ziva knew this. She knew this in ways no one should have to find out.

She just sat there and allowed herself to sink back into the chair, unrestrained yet still held captive by men so evil, so vindictive that it could make anyone's skin crawl. Three hours later Saleem came back, more than ready to get what he wanted out of her.

"Okay, Ms. David, you know of Rafiq's favorite form of torture and you now know of Qasim's but do you know what mine is?" He asked.

She shook her head, her throat so dry that she couldn't even speak.

"Mine is a mix of Strappado and a little surprise I have in store for you." He said; a wicked smile on his face as he recalled the time he hanged Ziva in Strappado.

"No! No! Not…not Strappado!" She pleaded, tears in her eyes.

"Oh no! I have something else I want to share with you." He said, placing a brown leather medical bag on the wooden desk in the room.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she grew fearful of what was in that very bag. She knew nothing good was in it. That was a fact. He then pulled it out. It was a device known as the pear. It was red and Ziva had never seen one before. She grew fearful and wondered what it was used for. It looked new and unused, not to mention scary.

Fear coursed through her veins when Saleem put the device back in his bag of tricks and dragged Ziva into the torture room. He placed her on the table and restrained her so that her arms were to her sides and her legs were spread apart. She was breathing heavily by this point and it was as if she were panting.

Saleem pulled out the device and sauntered over to her. The look on his face resonated evil. That was and is how she would always remember him. He was evil. Then with one swift motion Saleem shoved The Pear inside of her, causing her to scream out in agonizing pain. Yet the pain had just begun.

The pear was in fact a device that, in the right hands, could induce much pain with little effort. He began to inflate the device which made her scream even more. Tears flooded from her eyes as Saleem moved the device inside of her. Saleem was getting off on Ziva's pain. He enjoyed it very much.

When he was finished he deflated the device and pulled it out of her. A mixture of blood and her own fluids covered it. He smiled satisfactorily at this and began to clean it off. Just as was the case for the rest of the country, sanitation was terrible and barely existent. He placed it back in the bag and reached in for yet another device.

This device was known as the Spanish Spider. Ziva was actually aware of this device. She attempted the reach for her now bare breasts in order to cover them. Saleem laughed at her feeble and aimless attempts at covering her breasts and walked over to her.

"Well, I do believe you are aware of what this device is for." He observed with a perverse smile.

"Yes, I do." She replied with a small voice.

He couldn't help but laugh when he saw the fear in her eyes. It was a type of fear he knew well. It was a type of fear that he enjoyed. He smacked Ziva across the face and gripped forcefully onto her breast. She yelped in pain as Saleem put the Spanish Spider around her left breast. He began to slowly and antagonizingly allowed her breast to become pierced by the claw-like torture device.

"Now, are you going to tell me what you know?" He asked, anxiously awaiting her answer.

"No." She said in a gun-hoe voice.

"Hmm." He said as if to be amused by her answer. "You know, trying to prove yourself is not a wise choice. You will pay."

Qasim and Mohammed along with Namir and Hafiz could hear as Ziva's blood curdling scream rang through the camp. These walls were not sound proof and the man became enthralled by the sounds. They wanted so badly to know what was going on within those four cell walls.

When Saleem finished with her he left her alone, taking his bag right along with him. Ziva remained restrained to the table, praying that someone would come and take her back to the cell she was once in. She hated being restrained like this. She looked to her right to see the shelves filled to the brim with various devices of torture.

She cried as memories of Hamdi slicing into her thighs came back to her. She hated every moment she was in the camp. She wanted to be set free, whether it be by death or otherwise. She didn't care anymore. She wanted to die.

Just then, as if drawn by telepathy, Hamdi walked into the room. Would they ever leave her alone? Hamdi had a devious smile on his face and a ploy in his wanted her to continue suffering whilst Saleem thought of something else. He went over to the shelves and grabbed a long-bladed knife from the arsenal.

"You know, Ziva, I missed you. I heard you scream earlier and I thought I would come and see you."

He sounded so casual, as if he were having a normal conversation and not about to torture someone. He walked over to the strewn up Israeli and let out a guttural and evil laugh. With one swift motion he cut her, leaving a five inch gash on her calf. Little did Ziva realize was that this was just the beginning.

He laughed wickedly when she hissed in pain. He enjoyed it so much that he cut her again, right next to the previous cut. Ziva had shut her eyes against the pain and was able to take this better than the pear and the Spanish Spider. She watched as Hamdi hungrily eyed her scarred breasts. His tongue stuck out between his teeth slightly and he couldn't help but become aroused by this.

Ziva noticed this and narrowed her eyes at him. She wanted so badly for him to just vanish, evaporate from the room. She never wanted to see him again. She then noticed Hamdi come closer to her. She shut her eyes tightly when his lips were next to her ear.

"You're going to be mine soon." He taunted.

It was this that she hated quite a bit. All of the men, especially Saleem, tried to claim ownership of her. It was as if having her was the ultimate prize. Hamdi took the knife and this time, instead of making it quick, he dug the knife into her upper arm and slowly dragged it down until it hit her elbow. This was not all he would use.

He went over to the shelves and set the still bloody knife down. He allowed his fingers to dance over instrument of torture as he debated about which tool he should use. It was then when he saw the torch. It was unlike the torch he had previously used. This torch was one you had to light with a flame. This one would inflict much more pain.

He smiled approvingly and picked it up. Ziva saw the tool and she grew fearful yet again. She knew exactly what was to come next. She watched as he pulled a lighter out of his cargo pants pocket and lit the torch. The flame ignited after the accelerant aided it and it burned bright orange. The otherwise dimly lit cell was now luminous with fire.

Hamdi was a methodical, albeit twisted, man. He knew where to burn in order to inflict the most pain. He held the fire to her stomach and watched as the flame essentially cooked her skin. Ziva was screaming by that point. She just wanted it to stop. When Hamdi pulled away the torch he noticed the second degree burn and smirked.

"Did you like that, sweetheart?" He asked, being facetious.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ASSHOLE!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, all the while thrashing around in the contraption they had her tied up in.

Hamdi could only laugh and did something that utterly repulsed her. He got in her face and held her head still as his forcibly kissed her. When he pulled away she spit, hoping to rid her mouth of his rancid taste. She could taste cigarettes, alcohol, and what she recognized as his mouth's taste on her tongue. She looked to Hamdi, anger in her eyes.

Hamdi could only life at this. He loved it whenever she fought him or was repulsed. He loved it even more when she was in pain. It seemed to be the one thing that all of the terrorists had in common. They loved to see her in pain. Hamdi unshackled her and dragged her all of the way back to her cell. He pushed her inside, closely following her.

It felt good to be off of the table again. She was now able to feel her feet again. They had grown more numb as time passed. She was shoved into the chair and her hands were tied to the armrests. Hamdi left the cell, locking the door behind him. He then went in search of Saleem.

"Saleem!" Hamdi called.

"As-salaamu Alaykum, Hamdi." He greeted; his hands behind his back.

"She is back in the cell." He informed.

"Good."

"How do we proceed?" He asked, curiosity flowing through him.

"I already have a plan for that, Hamdi." He assured the man with a reflexive smile on his face.

Later that evening she stirred from her less than restful sleep when Saleem came in through the door.

"Strip her." He ordered one of his men.

Just then Namir, someone she had not seen in quite some time, stepped up. Obviously, he was more than willing to do this. He untied her and shoved her out of the chair. He then picked her up off of the dirt-covered ground and got her into the standing position. He tore off her t-shirt, not bothering or even caring what happened to it. He then grabbed onto the waistband of her tattered pants and ripped them off as well.

She was completely naked and fully exposed to the men in front of her. They saw every bruise, scar, gash, burn on her body. Some admired this and others were indifferent. Namir grabbed her by her afflicted bicep and pulled her towards Saleem. Saleem then proceeded to punch her in her gut. She hunched over in pain and allowed Namir and Khamud to take her to the torture room yet again. The rest of Saleem's men followed close behind. All the while Ziva was curiously wondering what was now in store for her.

"Ziva, what we have planned for you is probably something each and every one of us will enjoy but as for you we cannot help but believe that you won't like this one little bit." Saleem said as Khamud and Yassin put her back on the table.

She didn't speak. She only allowed Saleem to tell her what she was about to go throw. Her head hung to the side as she tiredly listened to Saleem's spiteful words. The malicious man paced back and forth as he talked. All of his men were in the room. It was feeling more cramped as time passed. She hated the way they were all staring at her as if she were some circus attraction.

She hated all of them; every last one of them. Saleem then stopped pacing when Badri and Wahjid walked in with what appeared to be branding tools. Her eyes went visibly wide as she noticed this. She knew what was to come of this. She was about to be branded. She noticed each man had their own stick with the letter of their initial on it. This was it. She was about to become territory and they were about to mark it.

Q for Qasim. M for Mohammed. K for Khamud. H for Hamdi. R for Rafiq. Y for Yassin. B for Badri. W for Wahjid. T for Tamir. H for Hafiz. N for Namir. A for Ahmed. Y for Youssef. S for Saleem. For several minutes they all left their mark on her, giving her permanent reminders of whom all tortured her and who all was responsible for her eternal pain and suffering.

Every single one of the terrorists left the room, leaving Ziva and Saleem alone in the room. Saleem smiled as he admired his S on the Israeli's toned thigh. He walked up to her and traced the fresh brand with his finger. She flinched away from his touch, biting on her bottom lip to avoid showing pain. But, the pain was still in her eyes and Saleem could tell of this.

He then looked at the H beneath it that Hafiz had put there. He smiled even wider after each brand he saw. He then stopped admiring the marks and looked up at Ziva's face. He saw a tear slowly trickle down her cheek. He looked from his victim to the series of shelves in the room. There were still as many devices there as he had put when they first got the tools. Some were bloody with her blood. Some looked untouched.

He didn't know whether or not he wanted to continue torturing her at the moment but he knew that he wanted to have fun with her sometime soon. He then decided to hold off on all of the fun and left the room. Ziva remained tied up to that table and she started to cry. She began to relive every man coming at her with their branding tool. They all put their names on her body in a way which could never be removed.

She just remained there, crying. She could do nothing else. She was forever trapped within that camp. The heat soon left and was replaced with chilly Somali cold. She lay there and allowed sleep to overcome her. She fell asleep rather quickly and tried to rest up for what potentially was in store for her.

The next morning Ziva awoke in a chair in the cell she had originally been placed in. She looked around frantically, wondering how in the world she had gotten there. She then grew fearful when she heard footfall approaching on the other side of the large wooden door. This is what she feared most, the unknown. She feared not knowing what was next. It made her even more scared than actually facing the torture.

He sauntered into the room to see Ziva sitting there. He had so much in store for her and he was pretty sure it would get her talking. He was well aware that despite any amount of training a human body can only take so much. He knew she would start talking if her life depended on it.

"Tell me everything you know, about NCIS." Saleem commanded for the umpteenth time.

"NO!" She yelled through gritted teeth.

He then proceeded to back hand her, her hair whipping around to where it hit her in the face. Saleem then took a hold of her by her jaw, tightening his grip on her. She looked into his soulless eyes and went completely still and silent. Her heart had long since been filled with unattainable death and she knew that all she could do was keep quiet and pray that one of them kill her.

"You won't talk; fine. Just know you will pay for your…lack of compliance."

"I would pay either way." She stated.

"See, your learning." He said, waving his index finger at her.

He was a vindictive son of a bitch and a twisted maniacal piece of work. Ziva then wondered what kind of people could birth to such a man. She instantly stopped thinking about that when Saleem punched her in the face, again. Her face was already swollen and bruised, blood caking over thirty percent of it. The punch only made it that much worse. He then grabbed the spare chair in the room and sat on it backwards.

"You are going to make this hard for me, aren't you?" He asked.

"I am not talking." She said in a defiant manner.

"Oh, I think that your opinion on that will waver somewhat when I am done with your worthless ass." He said.

"If I am so worthless than kill me already!" She refuted.

"Oh, well, the information you have is not so worthless." He told her.

He leaned forward and caressed her swollen cheek. She jerked away, unable to get out of his reach. He continued to caress her bruises, a look of admiration on his face.

"You know, if you live long enough these will take awhile to heal." He said.

"I am aware."

"Good, now, tell me what you know!" He demanded.

"NO!" She repeated louder and angrier than before.

He proceeded to make a tisk-tisk sound with his mouth. He always made this noise when he was disappointed with what he heard.

"That's too bad. Now, you will pay." He said deviously as he got into her face.

This was it. She then realized that the more she fought him the more and more pain she would receive from him and his men. They had already branded her. They had officially made their mark in every way imaginable. How could it get any worse?

Ziva knew the answer to that and it was staring her in the face. Every day was a new level of pain and no matter who held the tool Saleem was behind it all. Saleem had all of the control and she was well aware of this. Ziva, as anyone would, feared that Saleem may just stop not letting the men have her. That maybe he would let the other terrorists who were in the camp rape her. She prayed that he wouldn't though.

One man was enough. One monster was enough. Her hopes were soon crushed when Saleem called out for Qasim.

"Qasim!" He yelled.

Qasim quickly came into the room, wondering what he wanted. He looked from Ziva to Saleem with great curiosity.

"What is it, Sir?" He asked.

"I think you deserve a little…present." He said. "I think it's time you show Officer David here what you are capable of."

Qasim's eyes went wide with bewilderment. He couldn't believe his ears. He thought he would never get to have this opportunity but now that he did he could only think of one thing.

He walked over to her and with one hard smack she was down on the ground. He grabbed her by her wrists as she tried to fight him off. She was weak and had severe malnutrition. She had not eaten in two weeks and she felt lethargic. The fight was a short and feeble one. Qasim had her pinned into the dirt and dust beneath her and he began to do what he had always wanted to do.

He had finally had the glorious opportunity to rape the captive. He did not care about whether or not he got the information Saleem had wanted. All he wanted was to quench the dying need to feel the most ultimate form of control over the woman known as Ziva.

As he thrust himself inside of her he listened as she cried. She was obviously in pain. Saleem must have done her over pretty badly when he had his hands on her. Qasim finished raping her but he wasn't done yet. Saleem had left a long time ago and Qasim was free to do what ever he pleased.

He began punching the Israeli repeatedly and soon he lost interest when she stopped fighting back. She had actually been punched to the point where she was unconscious. He stood up and left her alone in her cell.

Meanwhile Ziva lay on the ground, weak, tired, hungry, dehydrated, and beaten. She didn't move. She couldn't move. She was frozen in a state of absolute unconsciousness. She looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes, slowly feeling herself start to drift farther and farther away.

The dusk soon approached the desert, nothing but pure darkness surrounding the helpless Israeli. She knew that she was now beyond saving. No matter what she did or said she would soon be dead. After spending over forty days in that hell hole she wanted nothing more than to die.

It was all she wanted. She had pictured it several times. One of them would grow so angry with her that it would finally drive them to doing what she wanted them to do. She would much rather die than be here another minute.

She laid there in the dirt and turned her head to the side. She saw a rat scurry across the cell floor, slipping out through a small hole in the wall. He was lucky. The rat could come and go as he pleased. But why would he stay? He was ignorant. He had no idea what kind of pain and suffering this place brought. For that he was lucky. Ziva David on the other hand was a very unlucky woman. She had no way out and she was most likely going to die.

That very next morning when the sun peeked out and came into the sky light spilled into the room. She felt heat radiate across her entire bare frame. She enjoyed the feeling very much. She had been cold all night and now that she had regained all consciousness she was warm.

She sat up to find Saleem standing in the corner of the room. He was watching her closely. That was all he did. He stood there, watched, and didn't say a word. She grew fearful as the anticipation of what was next built up.

She couldn't take the silence. He was concocting a plan and she could tell of this. It was something that she once did as to obtain some sort of knowledge of how to escape. But, that no longer peaked her minuscule amount of interest. What did was what they had planned for her next.

She awaited Saleem's arrival every day. She waited for him to pull out another tool from his bag of tricks. It scared her. It scared her to think about what all these men were capable of. She knew that what she endured was not all they had. They were holding out until they had no other choices and no other forms of torture.

"Well, Agent David, are you ready to talk now?" He asked.

She remained silent. She now did not want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his words.

"So, that's how you are going to be?" He asked.

Yet again she said nothing. She felt as though she had failed her teammates back at NCIS and if she could do one last thing for them she would keep them safe, and she would not tell Saleem a thing. Saleem went up to her and yanked her off of the ground. He then swung his other fist and hit her in the face yet again. He watched as her head whipped back and pain flooded through her head. She then began to writhe out of his grasp and she wondered what was to happen next.

Saleem couldn't help but laugh at her meager attempts at obtaining freedom. He tossed her onto the ground as if she were some sort of rag doll. She turned around only to have Saleem climb on top of her. What he did next was beyond unspeakable. He pulled out two knives and stuck them into her hands. They went through her hands and into the ground, causing them to become immobile. Blood gushed through them and she could feel nothing but pain.

She did not try to fight it for she knew that if that if she did, the knives tear through her flesh, causing her injuries to become significantly worse. She remained there still, the left side of her face pressed into the dirt. She shook as Saleem took yet another knife from his cargo pants pocket and cut into her tattered cargo pants.

He admired her marred skin and ran the blade of his knife along her legs. He then separated her legs and did the unthinkable. He shoved his knife inside of her. This caused her a considerable deal of pain. Ziva could feel the knife with each movement he made. Saleem watched as blood started to pool from her. He finally pulled out the knife and rid her hands of the knives.

Ziva felt herself start to become light headed. She felt sleepy but she remained awake. She could hear Saleem yell for Hafiz who came in with a first aid kit. Hafiz bandaged her hands rather poorly and left her alone with Saleem. He did not bother to tend to her other wounds for he knew it would just be a waste a valuable medical supplies.

Saleem then stood from the ground and crossed his arms as he watched Ziva just lay there, not moving. He wondered how much she would endure to keep her secrets buried within the recesses of her mind. He also wondered how much she really knew. He kept thinking as he watched her. Saleem grabbed the chair she was once shackled to and pulled the dazed and seemingly paralyzed Israeli from the ground. He tossed her into the chair and tied her arms back.

"Tell me what you know, now!" He demanded.

"I will not talk." She said.

Her voice was solid, emotionless, and like stone. She looked directly into his almost black eyes and denied him his information. He didn't get angry at first. He simply stood from his chair and started to laugh. He wove a finger at her and left the cell abruptly.

She grew worried and confused by his actions. She wondered where he was off to. She wondered what he was going to do. She gulped as fear overcame her. Her breathing became heavy and her chest rose and fell more rapidly. He came back with ropes. They were the exact same ones he had used on her when he had her in Strappado. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the ropes. Saleem watched as her head started the shake rapidly.

"No! No! No! No, no, no! No!" She begged as Saleem approached her.

"What?" He asked before looking down at the ropes. "Is the big tough Israeli scared of the ropes?"

She tried pushing the chair back as to get away from him and the ropes but this did not work for there was no way for her to get the chair to move back more than a couple inches. There was gravel and thick sand which made the act an impossible one.

When Saleem got up to her he unshackled her and took her to the room she hated most. It was the one down the hall. It was the torture room. The room which had been dubbed this was not the only room she had been tortured in but it was the room with the table, shelves, and the devices which brought her so much pain and suffering. There were hooks on the ceiling which were not there before; at least, she had not noticed them until that very moment.

Mohammed, the terrorist guarding the door, restrained Ziva as Saleem strung the ropes through the hooks. Saleem called to Mohammed in Arabic, telling him to bring Ziva over. Saleem took hold of her wrists and bound them with the ropes. He hoisted her up, causing her body to become suspended in the air. Saleem then left her alone in the room to hang. She started thrashing around, anxiously trying to loosen the ropes which restricted her.

This did not work, in fact it caused her wrists to chafe and blister. She remained still, feeling her wrists hurt more as time passed. Her feet could just barely reach the floor and she was growing more tired as time went on. She then allowed her head to hang against her bicep and she drifted off.

Just then a terrorist walked in. His name was Yassin. He hadn't had much to do with her torture but he wanted to. He looked at the defenseless and battered woman which hung from the ceiling before he went over to the shelves. There he began to scan through the impressive collection of hand-made whips that was there. Some appeared to be untouched and totally unused. It was then when he found it.

It was his favorite whip. The handle was made of wood and there were three braided ropes attached to it. He picked it up and walked over to Ziva. It was shorter than the one she had been whipped with previously but that didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Yassin then cracked the whip against the Israeli's soft skin, creating three lashes on her torso.

She awoke, feeling nothing but pain. She saw Yassin. She did not know him well. She had only seen him twice yet she knew his face.

"Yassin."

"That's right." He said before he cracked the whip again.

She screamed out in sheer agony as she felt the whip strike her yet again. Yassin was not all like the others. He wanted to cause her pain yet he was not open about it. Silent but deadly. That's how Ziva remembered him. That's how she would always remember him.

This process continued for a few hours until finally he grew bored. Yassin put the whip back in its designated place and left, once again leaving the Israeli captive alone within the room. She looked down at the wounds on her stomach. They were oozing blood and the flesh was inflamed. Ziva was in so much pain and she just wanted it to end. She wanted everything to end.


	4. PART 3

Sweet, blissful death; this was all she wanted. She wanted to experience this feeling more than anything in the world but she knew in her deadened heart that this would not come, not if Saleem had anything to say about it. She would stay here and not know anything but pain; that is until she talked. They knew and she knew that even the strongest and highest trained of men break at some point. She had a breaking point and soon she would reach it. These men would make sure of it.

The door to her cell creaked open to reveal the monster running this "show" of sorts. Ziva lifted her head up and saw him. She was weak and angry at the same time. For torture victims, this could be a…lethal combination of emotions. She watched as he walked towards her, his body slowly becoming illuminated by the early morning sun. Saleem analyzed her battered and abraded body. She looked so meek and almost frail. She still dangled in the very same spot Yassin had left her in that previous night.

"Good morning." He chimed with a thick Arab accent.

"Go to Hell!" She cursed at the top of her voice.

"Now, Agent David, I don't think that's very nice now." He said in a somewhat mocking manner.

Ziva then began to thrash around in her ropes erratically and kicked Saleem. He faltered backwards slightly but caught himself and laughed. He not only found her attempts meager, but he knew his retort would be much more painful and affective.

He pulled a knife from its holster and began toying with it in his fingers as he laughed at her. He pushed the blade against her arm and smiled sinisterly to her. She began to mentally beg for him to slice her arm and let her bleed out. She used to wonder when her death would come. Now, she couldn't wait for it.

"You think you're in Hell now. You haven't seen anything yet." He derided to her.

She narrowed her eyes at him and spat at him dryly. She watched as he wiped what little saliva hit his face away. He looked at her and back handed her hard. Once again, her head whipped back as a subsequent reaction to the slap.

"I am actually disappointed in you, Ziva. I thought you knew better." He said, allowing the blade to slide down slowly. "I guess I thought wrong."

When he removed the blade from her olive-tan skin he examined it closely, watching as slowly each crimson drop of blood caused the sand beneath her to become stained. He then began to pace around the cell, not only to be an aide to his thinking but to intimidate his hostage.

"You know, someday you will learn." He said, waving the blood-christened knife towards her. "You do not fuck with me, got it?"

She didn't say anything. She remained absolutely silent. For reasons unknown to Ziva, he became absolutely outraged by her silence. He walked up to her and with one swing he sliced through the ropes as if it were melted butter. She fell to the ground and landed with a thud. She then felt Saleem grab her by the back of her hair and he lifted her up.

"I said, got it?" He repeated, this time yelling in her face.

Yet again she did not break. In fact she allowed herself to take the most brutal of beatings she had received from Saleem. When he left her there, sixty percent of her body had become broken, bruised, bloody, or otherwise. She was a goner and she knew it. There was no way she was walking out of this place and she understood this fully. She had given up any and all hope of being rescued a long time ago. She lost everything, including hope.

She lay on the ground with nothing on but the remnants of ropes which cling to her wrist. Otherwise, she was fully naked, every wound exposed to the world and no one could see them. She tried getting up but it was of no use. She forfeited all of the littlest scraps of hope she had and closed her eyes. She lay there, allowing the sun to engulf every inch of her flesh.

Psychological torture; it was all he could think of at that moment. He knew several tortures techniques and some of those things had not even gotten to be used yet. He knew he'd use them eventually, if it came to that. She was persistent and strong, he gave her that but she should have known better. Then, maybe things would have turned out different. Maybe things could still change but the likelihood was quite low.

Saleem stood outside, more frustrated than anything. He had no idea what to do next. He could keep beating her but what good would that do. She still wouldn't talk. He then got an idea. This idea was not only spur of the moment but it was, to him, a stroke of sheer genius.

He busted through the door and saw the woman sprawled out across the floor. She grew scared when she saw him and began to feebly crawl away from him. This did not help for Saleem caught a hold of her by her blood and dirt matted hair. Dragging her from the room by her hair was an easy task nowadays. She wasn't fighting as much as she used to and this intrigued Saleem. Slowly but surely these men were cracking her resolve. Soon, she would reach her breaking point.

When he got her outside even more sweltering heat engulfed her naked body. She could feel the sand and rocks beneath her body as she moved through the desert's filth-ridden dirt. When she stopped she became encircled by all of Saleem's men. There must have been thirty of them hovering around her like a pack of wolves and she was their meat.

Of course, she knew this was coming. There were thirty men and just one meager woman which they could use to satisfy their own sick needs. She curled up in to a ball, shielding most of her body from their prying eyes. Just then Saleem kicked Ziva in the back, causing her arms to let go of her legs as she writhed in sheer pain. They hungrily studied her body and experienced that same ecstatic and enthralled feeling. She looked up at them, seeing their faces for the first time. Some of them looked familiar yet most were men she had no idea of their identities. She grew fearful for her life.

It seemed that the men were getting closer and closer to her but she could not know for sure. She had grown so paranoid she had no idea what was true and what was false. Whatever the case may be she knew she wasn't going to get out of here alive. She attempted to curl back up into a ball but Saleem stopped her with a firm kick to the ribs. Yet again she was in pain. Saleem then proceeded to allow Rafiq to have his turn.

In front of all of those men, Rafiq yanked down his pants and raped Ziva. They all stood and watched in wonder as Ziva attempted to fight the strong man off to no avail. She closed her eyes and listened to their voices shouting out various obscenities. Soon, this allowed her to somehow block out what was happening to her. She could feel him inside her yet she could not. She could feel Saleem's kicks yet she could not. It was as if she had been somewhere else.

This was nowhere near the end. It felt like every man had had his turn with her. It felt like every man at that camp at touched her in the worst of ways. Violated could not even begin to describe how she felt. There Ziva was, a woman so used to having all the control, having all of the control taken out of her hands and put into the sadistic terrorists which raped her over and over again. That night Saleem did not return her to her cell. In fact he took her frame over to the hangman-esque poles and strung her up there. Her naked and battered frame remained bare and she dangled lifelessly from up there. She was so tired. She was so cold. She could feel herself slowly start to slip away, into oblivion.

The next morning when she awoke, Ziva did not see four walls of a terrorist cell. In fact, she saw dirt flying around and the camp's buildings. She grew scared and started breathing heavily. Slowly as the dawn progressed she saw men emerged from their tents and camp buildings. She then knew what was coming next.

She was naked and these men were there to break her and they wouldn't even have to lift a finger. She was hanged by her wrists and she had no way of escaping their gaze. Her body had now become their peepshow. She began breathing even more heavily, the men watching as her chest moved with each erratic breath. She squeezed her eyes shut and avoided their faces as they stared. Just then Saleem came up to her and back handed her.

"You will look at them!" He commanded. "You will look at them until you talk!"

He had spoken so loud that it hurt Ziva's ear. She began to cry as she looked at all of their faces. She looked all the way down and sobbed when she saw their erections. He head hanged down in sheer defeat, her sobs heard by all of them. Her hair fell down, concealing her face from the men and the world.

Saleem, however, had other plans entirely for the Israeli agent. He came up from behind her and grabbed onto the back of her head, hoisting it up. Once again she saw their faces and then something happened that she was definitely not prepared for. A man stood up from his chair and rushed over to Ziva. He yanked her legs apart and proceeded to rape her once again. She cringed against the feel of his hand within her and could only cry for help that she knew would never come.

When he finished he went back to his tent and Ziva never saw him the rest of the day. Ziva began to thrash around within the restraints yet no amount of fighting it will help. She realized the only chance she had, was talking. She had to talk in order to escape. This shithole was one place she knew in her heart of hearts she would never get out of. She had grown to realize this a long time ago.

The Somali terrorist camp would slowly and gradually become her tomb. She stopped thrashing and allowed herself to suspend from the restraints which kept her bound. Saleem walked around her to where he was in front of her. He smiled at the sight of her admitting defeat. He balled his right hand into a fist and punched her hard in the face. Her head whipped back and her hair draped over her bruised face.

"Now, are you ready to play nice for my men?" He asked.

Despite her better judgment telling her not to do this, she spit in his face. He could only laugh at her rebellious act. He wiped away the saliva off of his face and took hold of a cluster of her hair.

"You still haven't learned have you?" He asked through gritted teeth.

She then began thrashing around in response, trying to somehow get out of his grasp. Yet, she could not escape. She could never escape. She never understood why she still tried to get out of this. It had been three long, excruciating, and relentless months since she was forcibly brought into the camp and now she wished she would have never taken this mission in the first place. She wished she would have stayed in the US with Tony, Gibbs, McGee, all of them. She should have never stayed in Israel.

When Ziva David awoke she could not believe her eyes. She saw a plate with what appeared to be rice and beans on it. She blinked her eyes as if in some form of disbelief. She crawled from the corner of the room towards the plate beside the door. When she reached it she picked up the plastic fork and started eating. She could not even begin to describe how good it felt to be eating again. She only ate a small amount, fearing they would not feed her again soon.

The scraps of food seemed to be disgusting leftovers from previous meals the terrorists shared but did Ziva care? No. Food was food and she was definitely in no position to be particular. She put aside the remnants of food and sat back against the nearest wall. She let a few tears trickle down her cheeks as she thought about her former co-workers. She missed them so much. She especially missed Tony.

She was snapped out of her reverie when the door flew open, revealing Saleem Ulman. She shut her eyes tightly, willing him to go away. Despite all of her effort Saleem did not go away. In fact he grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her into a large room.

This room she had never seen before and she feared what was going to happen within its confines. She saw the men standing and sitting in the room and grew fearful. She instantly started fighting his grasp, making her way towards the door. Still she could not get away from him.

"Please, don't!" She begged loudly. "NO!"

She screamed loudly in fear as she fought him. Yassin and Khamud came towards them and grabbed the fighting Israeli's frame. She wriggled and writhed to no avail. There was no escaping this. They threw her body down onto the ground in the middle of the room. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Saleem pulled out an electric shock baton.

This long black device's two silver colored points were pressed into Ziva's bare leg, causing Ziva to receive an electric shock. The volts of electricity made Ziva convulse, her muscles becoming, in a sense, paralyzed. The excruciating pain she felt couldn't even surpass what she was about to face.

She soon felt nothing, her whole body growing numb. The device sure had done its job. She watched unwillingly as they shackled her wrists and ankles, restraining her tightly. She could not have been sure about what they would do to her but she had a few ideas and none of them were good. She lay there as the men drew closer. Tears stung her eyes and she wanted it all to end. She began to sob as one man by the name of Abbud approached.

"Please…don't do this." She cried.

Her voice was filled with so much pain but knowing these deranged and sadistic assholes they would not show any form of mercy. One after another, thirty men took their turns with her. She cried the whole time. She couldn't think of a time she cried so much in her entire life. But this was not her life. Sadly, this was her untimely death.

Relentless sobs busted from the Israeli's small frame as the men left her alone in the room to rot. She screamed loudly in the feeble hopes that someone somehow would hear and come to her rescue. But, she knew that if by some miracle that were to happen they would not make it. These men Saleem had guarding the camp had anti-tank and anti-aircraft weapons and death would be instantaneous. Anyone would be a fool to try to save her. She shut her eyes tightly and allowed herself to just cry.

For days they had left her there with absolutely no contact. This scared her. She feared the worst. She feared that they were scheming, coming up with something so terrible that she might just die this time. Then again, she did not mind if she died. She minded how she would die. She didn't want any more pain. She wanted at least one part of this hell-like experience to be painless.

She pulled her right arm towards her body but was crestfallen when she realized that she couldn't even move it a foot. The disconsolate Israeli allowed her body to go limp in defeat. She was thirsty; her mouth feeling drier than the sand beneath her. She hadn't had anything to drink in ages and she wished, prayed that they would bring her something to drink. Meanwhile, Saleem was on the other side of the cell door listening to her yells.

"HEY!" She screamed hoarsely. "Water!"

She continued to yell yet got no response.

"I need some water!" She shouted.

It had been about three and a half days since she had last drank anything and anyone knows that this can be quite deadly, especially since she is in the middle east. She was surprised when Qasim came in and brought a large bottle of water. Her eyes lit up at this. She wanted it so bad that she began to thrash around in her restraints. Qasim seemed to enjoy watching the young woman struggle. He pulled out a shiny silver key and unlocked one of the restraints before he handed her the water.

Normally, Ziva would have done her best to fight Qasim and get the key but right then, to her that did not matter. The only thing that mattered was that water. She practically tore off the lid and began to down the water. She drank half before she stopped herself to breath.

"Thank you." She whispered.

She had no idea why she thanked the terrorist but it wasn't as if she could take back what she had said. Suddenly with one swift motion Qasim put her wrist back in the restraint. Qasim snatched up the water and began drinking from it. Ziva's eyes went wide. She was utterly appalled by the man's actions. She thought the water was hers.

He polished off the bottle and threw the empty remains across the room before he left. He listened as Ziva began to flay around like crazy in the attempts to break her chains. Sadly, she realized that this act would become impossible. She could feel the shackles cut into her wrists and she saw blood seeping from invisible wounds which lay beneath the shackles. She rested her arms a bit and started to struggle with her ankles. With a loud scream she was able to pull the bottom of her feet from the desert ground. She miraculously broke the chains, freeing her feet.

She began to feel her chest heave rapidly with each breath she took. She attempted to turn around, her arm's chains becoming tangled. She was able to get her feet stable on the ground. She hissed as pain radiated through her ankles. She saw blood pooled from deep gashes on her ankles. She didn't care though. She knew that somehow she would be able to escape. Blood began to stain the sand beneath her as she pulled her wrists towards herself as hard as she could. The stubborn woman continued to fight through it despite how aimless her attempts may be.

She suddenly felt her wrist's bone crack. It was official. She now had a fractured wrist. She bit onto her bottom lip hard as began engulfed her. She took a few deep breaths and screamed as she used her broken wrist to pull the chains loose. She stopped after a while and dropped to her knees. The pain was too much. She had so many injuries that it may have been easier to count all of the places on her body that were non-afflicted. She rested her head against the ground below her and sobbed. That was all she could do was sob.

She looked down at her wrist and saw a part of the bone poking out into the skin. She couldn't even move it without it hurting and to do what she just did with a broken wrist was seemingly impossible. She knew that she might have caused further damaged by doing what she did but she didn't care. She had to get out. No matter what, she had to get out. She stood up and with one hard pull she broke the part where the chains were connected to the floor. She fell back and hit the ground hard.

In an almost victorious manner she stood up and began pounding against the walls. She then cried out in sheer agony as her broken wrist began to hurt worse. She took hold of it with her other hand and hunched over. She hurt worse than she had before and she wished that Saleem would let Hafiz set her wrist and that he would do it without making it any worse.

Her ribs still hurt from the beatings she had received prior to her time in this room. She put her hand on her side and hissed in pain. She hadn't noticed it before but her ribs seemed to be cracked. She took a deep breath and they started to hurt worse than before. She knew that if one of these men didn't kill her than her injuries just might.


End file.
